The Wind Beneath My Wings
by Qu33n0f1c3
Summary: Herbert stops Alfred from fleeing the castle to a gruesome demise, but Alfred wants to go home, and out of love, Herbert agrees to guide him back to the village. In the process, Alfred learns there is more to Herbert than the monster he thought he was.
1. Chapter 1: The Escape

The professor ran off, and for a brief moment, the vampires were certain that their prey were as good as theirs. Then he'd come back, another candle stick clutched in his hands, and together with his young assistant, contructed a barrier that had them hissing in pain.

The count was shouting. There was screaming all around. Koukol. Take it down. Get Sarah.

Herbert stood his ground, his vision of the holy symbol shielded by his arm. He watched the human men grab Sarah and run. She was looking back at them. Yearning. She didn't want to go.

Herbert's chest felt tight. His head lulled downward, and he gave a small groan of pain. He couldn't allow it. His father had supposedly cared for his happiness, but he'd ordered Sarah's return, _not_ Alfred's.

His father didn't like him leaving the castle. He didn't want him to spread his own wings. He wanted him to stay here. He wanted Sarah back.

Herbert couldn't care less for the little wench. What about Alfred?

Growling lowly, Herbert raised his arm a sliver. The discomfort caused by the object before him intensified. Herbert ignored it. The room was nearly empty now. Koukol was hobbling toward the thing, readying to take it down. His father was looking the other way.

So Herbert gritted his teeth, shielded his eyes with both arms, and bolted forward. The pain intensified as he drew nearer, until it was at a peak, and he lashed out with his right arm as he went, violently knocking the candles apart and vanquishing the power they'd held over him and his brethren.

Koukol was bewildered. The count turned his gaze toward the noise just a moment too late. He never realized his son had given chase. The ballroom was empty. The candles burned against the tiled floor. Koukol ran toward the doors. Raced to the exit. The count remained, chest heaving. Angry. Unaware.

Though they'd stayed two nights at Castle von Krolock, the castle's layout was still quite foreign to the professor and his assistant, and even as they attempted to flee, they found it difficult to navigate the corridors, especially with the fear of being caught just around any corner very real in their minds.

Herbert didn't need to see where they were going to track them down. He could smell them. He could smell _Alfred_. The man's scent had been unforgetable after their little tumble. It was something he would probably never forget, and it helped him to bypass certain detours the other men had taken. It allowed him to catch up.

Which was good, because if he hadn't known Alfred's scent so well, he might have gone to the front entry, assuming they would be running back to the village. Herbert was bewildered to find they weren't going that way at all, but another way, a far more dangerous way. Suddenly the greed and longing in his heart was replaced with something else. He didn't want to let Alfred run off like this, true, but it was even _worse_ that they were heading out into the cursed forest. Alfred would be killed for certain if Herbert didn't do something!

So Herbert ran faster, as fast as his legs would take him, until he saw the trio at the side gate, fumbling with the door. They opened it up and spilled out into the fierce out doors. There were wintery conditions. It was snowing again, thick flakes floating down from high in the sky, blanketing the land with a fresh coat of the blinding white blanketing material.

"Hurry, hurry young man!"

Professor Abronsius did not look back to Alfred even as he urged the man along. Sarah's hand was in his own, and he was hurrying along with a surprising spry to his step for such an old man. Alfred, however, was not faring so well. Being the nervous, clumsy man that he was, the snow was bogging him down, and he was slipping as he ran along, small little gasps of surprise rising from his throat with each near fall.

That is, until someone from behind called his name, a bellowing, "Alfred, _not that way_," echoing against the forest and causing the jittery hunter's assistant to at last loose his footing and collapse into a mound of snow beneath him.

Professor Abronsius continued along. Sarah looked back. Not to Alfred. To Herbert, who was now making his way to the fallen man. Her gaze shifted to the castle. She wanted to go back. But the professor dragged her into the forest.

Alfred whimpered into the snow. Not all of it had been fresh, and when he'd fallen, his clothes had been grated against hard, icy material beneath the newer blanket. He moaned out in pain. Fresh, red blood began to color the snow by his shins and the side of his right arm where it had scraped against the hidden dangers.

Herbert swallowed hard as the smell greeted his flared nostrils. It was sweet, tantalizing, and however little had been shed, a great temptation. Perhaps it was for the best that he was as exhausted as he was from running. The fatigue helped to keep his mind straight, helped to keep from throwing himself at the trembling young man on the ground by his feet.

Alfred could sense him there. He trembled violently, his eyes squeezed shut, very much expecting the worst. Herbert kneeled beside him, breaths heavy, willing himself to extend his hand _slowly_ so that he wouldn't do anything stupid like he very nearly had last night. That hadn't worked. He would need to be more subtle. More alluring. That was how his father had won Sarah.

His hand touched upon Alfred's shoulder. Alfred jerked beneath his touch and released a pitiful whimper. Herbert's fangs grazed his own lips as he gazed upon the frightened man. He closed his eyes and heaved a quiet sigh.

"Where did you think you were going?"

Herbert's voice was surprisingly soft. Weak, almost. It gave Alfred a shred of hope that he could get away.

"F-far away from here!" he cried, attempting to draw himself up and away from the vampire behind him, but he only slid back to the snow, slumping into it hopelessly thereafter.

Herbert licked his lips and applied pressure to the hand he'd placed on Alfred's shoulder. Slowly he turned the man over so that they were eye to eye. Alfred's wide, brown orbs gazing back into his apathetic, gray irises.

"This place is full of vampires," Alfred murmured, trying not to stare at Herbert's mouth and trying not to think of what was inside. "Th-they tried to kill us . . . they tried to kill Sarah. You . . . you tried to kill me. You would have bitten me. Made me like you!"

Alfred was being surprisingly bold. Perhaps kneeling on Death's door did that to people. He had no hope of escape, after all. The professor had abandoned him. Sarah was long gone. Koukol went passed them while Alfred was struggling in the snow. No one could rescue him, so why not talk back to his captor? It wasn't going to make his situation any better, but if he was already doomed, it couldn't possibly make anything worse.

"I know," Herbert said thinly, his voice low, still soft.

Alfred only had the faintest ideas of what he'd intended to do to him when he was pinned down there on the floor. If the professor hadn't come along and put an end to it . . . No, he wouldn't think about that. This was a time for more pressing matters. Like the fact that Alfred and his cohorts had been heading into a cursed forest.

"But that doesn't matter now," Herbert insisted. "Do you have any idea where you were heading? The village is the other way. That's dangerous territory out there!"

"Dangerous . . ." Herbert's words weren't quite registering with Alfred. He was cold, and scared, and Sarah was out there with the professor. "Dangerous!" he shrieked. It had hit him. "But, but Sarah, she's-"

"She's a _vampire_, Alfred!"

"But I must _protect_ her!"

Herbert's hand tightened on Alfred's shoulder. "Listen to me, boy. Sarah does not love you. Her fate was in her own hands. Father . . ." Herbert paused, his voice taking on a harsher tone, "was pretty clear about what would happen to her. He invited her to the ball and she accepted. No one dragged her or forced her. She came on her own. You're too blinded by your infatuation with her to see what it is either you truly desires!"

"But I do desire her," Alfred whined, slumping back into the snow. "She told me that she liked me."

"What you felt was physical attraction and nothing more. . . . Tell me, what is it you see in your head when you think of her? Tell me!"

Alfred stared back at Herbert as a faint blush nestled itself into his cheeks. "The bath . . ."

"Exactly." The harshness was gone. Herbert was soft once more.

For a few brief moments no words were spoken. The only sounds came from Alfred's erratic breaths and his rare movement in the snow, an uncontrollable effect of his shivering.

"I doubt your professor will make it out of there alive. The village is the other way. These woods here are beyond our territory. The creatures that live there are worse than vampires. Alfred, what would you have done if you ran into a werewolf? Even a pup can rip a person apart."

"W-werewolf?" Alfred's face had gone paler yet as he sat himself up a little and glanced into the depths of the forest with weary eyes.

But Alfred was given no time to dwell on the thought. Herbert had come closer to him, and wrapped his arms around his back. Alfred's heart beat quickened, especially when Herbert rested his head against Alfred's shoulder. That mouth was far too close to his neck for his liking.

"Please come back to the castle," Herbert pleaded. "Please, Alfred, I beg of you."

"I . . . but . . . Sarah!"

Herbert rolled his eyes. "Would you quit worrying about that stupid girl?" He pulled his head away from Alfred's body and gazed into his eyes. "Her transformation may not be complete yet, but the wolves seem to dislike my kind. They'll smell Father on her and leave her alone. Then she'll come back, because she wants to be here, and no one can take that away from her."

"There's . . . nothing that can be done then?" Alfred murmured, dejected. "A transfusion couldn't save her?"

Herbert was fed up with these questions about Sarah. He kept his lips firmly shut, merely narrowing his gaze at the man still entrapped in his arms.

"If . . . if I go with you . . . if I stay at the castle tonight . . . will I see Sarah again?" Alfred forced his fears to subside and for the first time quite willingly looked into the depths of his captor's eyes. "Will you promise me that I will see her?"

Herbert pulled away, but left his hands on Alfred's shoulders. Slowly he eased himself to be standing. Alfred was pulled up along with him. The blood on his clothes sent whiffs of aroma up into the air with each movement. Herbert wrinkled his nose a little and bit back the urge to have a taste off of the man's sleeve.

"You'll see her," Herbert said, shifting his gaze from Alfred out to the forest, where he let them linger, searching for any traces of movement. There were none, but he was still certain she would be back.

Alfred let out a long held breath and slackened a little where he was stood. Herbert shifted one arm and snaked it around Alfred's back, supporting him as he began to walk the boy back to the castle.

"Keep quiet," Herbert advised as they tread carefully beneath the blanket of snow clouds. "Father doesn't know I came out here. We'll need to sneak back in. We'll use my room to hide you until tomorrow night. You'll be safe there, Alfred. I promise. I'll protect you from him. From all of them."


	2. Chapter 2: The Return

Herbert knelt by the side door, but did not yet open it back up. The castle was bustling with energy. Footsteps above, footsteps below. The other vampires were out and about. Whether they were still searching for the humans or getting ready to return to their graves was anyone's guess. All Herbert knew was that it was going to be difficult to get Alfred along inside, especially with his clothes being in the state that they were in. Even being trace amounts, shed from mere scratches, the blood could draw unwanted attention.

"Alfred, I want you to undress," Herbert said, sitting the man down in a nearby corner and removing his hands from his body. Oh, did poor Alfred look like he'd seen a ghost, but Herbert refused to budge. He knew what the man was thinking, and he wasn't about to comment on it, because that's what he was thinking too, but it was going to be necessary to get them through the halls safely.

"Do as I say or you'll be vampire chow after all," Herbert reiterated. "Those bloodstained clothes were attract them like vultures to a carcass. We simply must discard them."

"All- All right. But . . . T-turn around. I won't do it if you're l-looking."

"Don't be stupid," Herbert snapped. "I'll look if I please. Now take them off before I help you along!"

Alfred should have known better than to attempt to order around a master vampire, though he had honestly not been expecting so much anger and grump from Herbert. What he'd seen of him in the bath had been quite frilly and girlish. This was an entirely different side of him that had been hidden, or repressed, for whatever reason. Which version was the real Herbert? Could vampires be bipolar?

"One. Two. Thr-"

"All right!"

Alfred whimpered, but he pushed himself forward onto his knees and began to shrug off his shirt. It was difficult. His clothes were wet and stuck to his skin, but he was finally able to pull it off and dump it onto the ground beside him. He looked up to Herbert, teeth chattering from the cold. The scratch marks were visible now, faint, but still trickling.

"Now the rest."

"But-"

"Do it!"

Alfred stood, then fumbled at his waist to undue his pants. His face flushed, conflicting with his fear, as he awkwardly slid his shoed feet from each leg until he was standing there in his underwear, nearly naked, and very cold. The scrapes on his legs looked worse than the ones on his arms, but it was nothing a little snow couldn't fix.

"Hold still," Herbert instructed, crouching down, packing up a handful of snow, and gently rubbing it against the wounds. Alfred was dead still. It hurt a little, but Herbert was pretty close to a private place, and given how the vampire had been behaving, Alfred had strong fears that he might try something.

But he didn't, and soon he'd stood up again, a fresh bunch of snow in his hand to rub into the scratches on his arms. It seemed, at least for now, that Herbert was behaving. It was kind of refreshing. Maybe it wasn't a trick. Maybe Alfred wasn't damned. Maybe he might make it out of there alive.

Somehow.

Herbert retrieved the clothes, wadded them up, and hurled them through the air. They flew. Not exceedingly far, mind you, but far enough to kick the smell of blood away from the castle. If anyone went looking for the source, they would find it out there, not inside, because the icy snow had done the trick, and had stifled the blood flow enough that little scabs could now form over, and who wanted to eat dried out crust?

"Now come, take my hand, and stay close. This is going to be tricky."

"But-"

"_Now_, Alfred. This isn't up for discussion!"

Poor Alfred, never able to get a word over the irritable vampire. He took Herbert's hand hesitantly, and allowed himself to be lead onward, through the door.

The air was tense with energy as Herbert slowly lead Alfred through the corridor. His own steps were light, but Alfred's were clumsy and nervous. It was a miracle that they hadn't already been discovered. It was likely by virtue of the soon to be rising sun that the guests in the castle were too preoccupied to realize that there was food in the castle once more. Herbert was able to tell when they were to pass, sniff them out, as it were, and keep his ears peeled for their footfall. Ten minutes and two stairwells later, they had finally made it to their destination. Herbert opened up the door, and with one final glance around the hall, pulled himself and Alfred inside.

The room was as he'd left it. Bed spread ruffled from his rolling around on it in fantasy the night before. Draws half open and disheveled from his attempts to find the perfect outfit for the ball. He'd changed his mind three times before settling on the blue dress suit he wore now.

Alfred stepped toward the bed while Herbert locked the door. Alfred found it a little difficult to take in how lavish the place looked. It was unlike anything else he'd seen in the castle. Most of the other rooms were covered in dust, which had gathered over the years as a result of neglect and disuse. This room was another story. It was clean. Fresh. Almost alive.

"Don't you sleep in coffins?" Alfred wondered quietly, sitting himself upon the edge of the soft bed.

"Oh. Yes. Well, Father insists on that, you see." Herbert wrinkled his nose. He didn't much like sleeping in a coffin at all. His bed was much more comfortable. But he had to make the old man happy. The count was a misery when he didn't have his old fashioned ways. "I'm rather fond of spending my time here though. I've had this room since I was a young boy. Even this bed here. Of course, it dwarfed me once upon a time. Seems so long ago to think on it now."

Herbert sighed and turned from Alfred, then stepped into a smaller outcropping of the room. Alfred's gaze followed the vampire as he walked, until he was out of sight, and Alfred was nearly completely turned around. So Herbert had lived here for most of his life. Unlife. Whatever. And for however long that was. He seemed to be of nobility. Had that been a birthright for him then as well? And for his father too? Had he been a count before he'd been a vampire?

These were questions he dared not ask, especially when the sound of water flittered through the archway.

"What are you doing in there?"

"Drawing you a bath," Herbert said. "You are filthy from your fall and you reek of dirt and sweat. You must wash up immediately."

_You're not sleeping in my bed, dirty like a cave man!_

"Oh," Alfred murmured. He galnced down at himself, only now realizing how badly off he looked, disheveled and cut up. He was also painfully aware of a certain material lacking on his body. "I'm afraid I haven't got a change of clothes."

Herbert appeared in the doorway, a thin smirk planted firmly on his face. "That's all right, love," he said dantily, "I wouldn't mind if you had to remain good and naked until your panties are clean and dry."

A look of sheer horror formed on Alfred's face. The professor wasn't there to rescue him anymore. He was all alone in this locked room with a rather _friendly_ vampire who was once more rather overtly _flirting_ with him. Alfred could barely believe it. He'd never come across anyone like this before. It was abnormal. It was unholy.

Yet there was something about it that piqued his curiosity. He recalled the count telling him when he'd first arrived that his morals were useless, and that if he could let them go, he could find happiness here. His thoughts drifted once more to a fear he'd had when he'd separated from the professor before he'd come across the old village. Headlines would read that a scientist was killed in Transylvania, but no one would read about or miss _him_. Alfred had a feeling that if he were to die, this creature before him would most certainly miss him. It was slightly heartening, and so Alfred laughed very, very meekly, and tried not to appear too appalled by Herbert's saucy language.

"But I suppose I could find something to lend you just as well," Herbert said with a dramatic sigh. "There's got to be something around here that'll fit."

Herbert was taller than Alfred, but it probably wouldn't matter too much. There were decades worth of clothing strewn about the room. There had to be something that would work. So he began to rummage through drawers, one after the other, pulling them open and shut in search of perfect sleep wear for his guest.

"Here we go," Herbert declared. He held out a gray pair of pants and a white shirt. "They're not perfect but they'll have to do. Go on now, the bath is ready for you. We woudln't want the water to get cold, now would we."

Alfred accepted the clothes, and stepped forward as he was ushered toward the bathroom. "There's no door . . ."

"Of course there's no door, it's my private bath," Herbert said with a roll of his eyes. "Besides, it's a nice view."

"Please don't look!"

"Oh fine, fine!" Herbert murmured with a throw of his arms. "You're no fun at all, Alfred. Stupid, stuffy humans."

Alfred swallowed hard and waited a few moments to be sure that Herbert would not renig on his promise before carefully stepping out of his underwear and carefully stepping into the tub. The water was already cooling off, but it was comfortable, and Alfred set himself to bathing, keeping a wary eye on the archway to the room in the meantime.

It was very difficult to keep himself from peeking into the bath to 'check' on Alfred, so Herbert busied himself with cleaning up his room while he waited for his guest to finish up. The room needed a good sprucing anyway. He'd really done a number on it between finding his outfit for the ball and something for Alfred to wear to sleep. Thankfully, finding something for himself was much easier. The top shelf of the dresser in front of his double bed yielded soft black pants and a silken long sleeved grey shirt.

Sparing a glance to the archway to be sure Alfred wasn't there, Herbert began to strip himself of his suit. It wasn't for his sake, of course. He would have loved to show off a little to Alfred. But he knew it would frighten him, and right now he wasn't really in the mood for frightened human. He was finding himself increasingly tired, and the bed seemed more and more inviting as the seconds ticked by.

Once he was dressed, he went to stand by the window and gazed out at the rising sun. It was just barely peaking out over the horizon. The other vampires were surely in their graves by now. And his father was likely down in the crypt as well. With or without Sarah. Herbert gently bit his lower lip. He really hoped Sarah would make it back. He'd sounded so sure of himself out there but there was a chance she wouldn't be able to find the way, and would burn up in the sun, her newborn vampire flesh unable to defend her.

Herbert lowered the blinds and drew shut the curtains. There wasn't much use worrying about it. There wasn't anything he could do at any rate.

"I put out the candle in the bathroom," Alfred said quietly as he stepped through the archway. Herbert did not immediately look back at him, so Alfred stood there awkwardly, observing the vampire by the window, unsure what to make of the docile environment.

"Much appreciated, love," Herbert said at last, turning to Alfred and observing him with a melancholy expression. "You look much better now. Not so pale or sickly looking now that you've freshed up."

"I wasn't pale," Alfred argued quietly.

"You were, you were," Herbert replied, moving to sit himself on the edge of the bed while stifling a yawn. Didn't want to show off the fangs.

Alfred decided it wasn't worth arguing, and instead moved toward the door, whose knob he tested. It was locked. It only turned a little before clicking softly. "You sure this is enough protection? Can anyone get through?"

"I doubt it. Besides, no one ever comes in here without permission, and if anyone ried, I would hear it." He paused a moment, silently watching Alfred pace a circle. "That's why you're sleeping on the other side of the-"

"Ontheotherside?" Alfred, eyes wide, stared at Herbert, then at the bed, as it slowly sunk in that he would be sharing it with the vampire.

"Yes," Herbert said slowly, softly, amused, "on the other side of the bed. . . . If someone does come in, they won't see you."

Oh God, just how close and snuggly was Herbert planning on being? Alfred turned his gaze away and murmured, "B-but . . . but can't I just . . . sleep on the floor over there? Or under the bed? Or-"

"Alfred, don't be ridiculous." Herbert stomped the hard, stone floor for good measure. "Doesn't matter how tired you are, you wouldn't sleep on this."

"But . . ."

"Look, I haven't hurt you yet, have I? Alfred, _please_ don't make me beg."

'But I don't-"

"I won't take no for an answer," Herbert said, standing and moving to Alfred's side. He placed an arm around the man's shoulders and guided him around the bed to the place he was insisting he sleep. He forced him onto the edge, gave him a stern glare, and stormed stiffly back to where he'd come from. "Just go to sleep, Alfred," he pleaded, falling backward onto the mattress and splaying his blond hair out upon the bed spread. "I'm tired. It's dawn. Even if I wanted to I wouldn't have the energy to molest you."

Alfred was slowly becoming accustomed to this sort of teasing, but that didn't make it any less frightening a thought. Being molested by the count's freakish son. It would be terrible. Horrible. A nightmare come true.

But Herbert had promised that he wouldn't touch him, and Alfred didn't have much other choice than to believe him. Dejectedly he pulled back the covers and stuck his legs beneath. He then watched as Herbert, relieved, did the same, and turned from him to look in the direction of the bathroom. Alfred turned toward the window. It seemed appropriate they not look at each other.

"Don't you try to sneak away while I sleep now either," Herbert warned, reaching for the candle on the side table nearest him and putting it out. "It's too dangerous to go without an escort. I'll know if you get up."

Alfred sighed, but gave no further answer. He wouldn't go anywhere. He was scared, not stupid. And anyway, things seemed to be going well.

He'd thought he'd been as good as dead-or undead-when he'd agreed to return to the castle, but so far he'd been safely smuggled inside, drawn a warm bath, given clean clothes, and given a comfortable bed to sleep in, even if he _did_ have to share it with Herbert. They were all things that he had at first greatly protested, but in truth were generous gifts, and completely undeserved considering all the things he'd done to cause problems at Castle von Krolock since he'd arrived.

It was the strangest thing, but Alfred found himself feeling sort of . . . guilty. He'd been quite rude about everything. It was no wonder Herbert seemed short with him at times. He would have to apologize when they woke. He would have to thank his host for his kindness.

Because, it seemed, that Herbert just might not be the monster that he'd thought he was. Maybe, just maybe, the count's son wasn't all that bad.


	3. Chapter 3: Interlude

Alfred seemed to be plagued with nightmares whenever he slept at the castle. Not long after he'd drifted away to dream land he found himself being bombarded with similar images of the count, of Sarah, and now of the professor's mangled body, and Alfred's bed mate, Herbert, fulfilling his fantasies upon him and very much against his will.

Maybe Herbert wasn't so bad? Herbert was an absolute fiend! Alfred was pinned to the bed. Herbert straddled him. It was just like that first time, only there was no one to stop the vampire from gnawing on his neck like he were a bone being stripped of flesh. Each motion of Herbert's jaw working against his neck was pure agony. Those teeth dug deeper and deeper, fresh, hot waves of pain coursing from his neck all the way down to his toes. His head felt like it were going to explode. The pressure was too much. Too much. And then Herbert was reaching for his belt line, snaking his hand into his pants, and-

"Oh God!"

Alfred sat straight up, a thin film of sweat coating his body. His heart was racing. His breaths came ragged. He touched at his neck franticly. No blood. No open wounds. There was a distinct bulge in his pants, however, which Alfred acknowledged with a mild flushing of the face. Herbert shifted on the bed beside him, but made no comment on his outburst. Alfred heaved a heavy sigh.

A dream. It was just a dream.

No, a nightmare! To call it a dream would mean it were something he'd enjoyed!

The professor's disparaging voice fluttered through his mind. Shame on both of you. Shame. He'd reacted then, too.

"What is wrong with me," Alfred whispered to himself, absently running a hand through his curly brown hair. His weary eyes stared tiredly up at the canopy of the bed, then out at the forms of furniture outlind by the trace amount of light filtering in through the curtains.

He didn't even give it a second thought. He pushed off the covers and touched his feet to the floor. The stone was cold against his bare skin, but he did his best to ignore it as he slowly padded toward the window. He could feel the draft as he approached, and when he stood before the outlet in the wall, he extended a hand and drew it back a sliver, allowing a thin stream of light to cascade into and illuminate a sector of the room. Alfred followed the light's trajectory over to Herbert's dresser, but soon his gaze was drawn by the vampire himself, who was narrowly glaring at him from beneath the blankets, which he'd drawn nearer to his body in a knee jerk reaction from the unwanted guest being let in the room. They held their gaze a moment until Herbert turned away, seemingly satisfied that Alfred was not meaning to make any attempt at escaping.

What a mystery that creature was to him. He'd shared many beds with the professor before, had never thought twice of it. Yet being near this thing was enough to send him into a panic, and to rile up things within him he never even knew were there. What it was, he didn't know. He was certain it wasn't quite the same as the way Herbert felt for him. It had to be something to do with his looks. With that long hair and thin frame, and the way he sauntered around . . . why, he looked like a woman. That had to be it. He wouldn't feel so conflicted if it were anyone else. He hadn't for the count, or for the professor. It had to be Herbert's effeminacy. That, or Alfred harbored a secret passion for being dominated over. He shuddered at the thought. He wasn't sure which sin was worse.

Spurred on by these dark thoughts, Alfred tugged gently on the curtains, parting them a little more, then sticking his fingers between the blinds so that he could see outside. He made sure the light fell short of the bed before he put his eyes to the opening and gazed out across the snow stained landscape. The sun was out now, bright and strong. The clouds from the night before were gone. Fresh snow no longer fell. It was a clear day. A beautiful day. The snow on the ground was melting, though Alfred could still see the mess where he'd fallen and Herbert had helped him up. He scanned the ground for where Herbert had thrown his clothes, but he could not locate them. Had some monster out there dragged them off? Vampires? Werewolves?

Alfred shivered at the thought. Werewolves. Vampires. Sarah. Was she still out there? Had she made it back? Would he ever see her again? Herbert had promised that he would, but he wasn't sure what to make of it anymore. If she was caught out there, it would have been over. She'd be gone. But then, that wouldn't be Herbert's fault, now would it?

_He could have gone after her_, Alfred thought, turning from the outdoors and looking back to the bed. Herbert was still turned from him, but the way his breaths rose and fell gave away that he had yet to go back to sleep. Alfred bit his lip. _But he didn't. Of course he didn't. He feels nothing for her. It's . . . me . . . he wants. . . ._

Alfred released his hold on the blinds and then the curtains, and slowly made his way back to the bed. He lay on his back and pulled the blanket over him, leaving himself to stare up at the canopy of the bed once more. His head felt heavy, but he didn't give in to the urge to close his eye lids. He stayed quiet, ears peeled, listening to the vampire who lay just a foot or so away breath. He was certain that he was being listened to as well. It was almost like a game.

But Alfred had never been very good at games, and he was the first to lose his resolve. He shifted uncomfortably, quietly moaned, and turned himself onto his side, so that he was gazing at Herbert's back.

"What is it, love?" Herbert asked softly, his tone gentle, not at all sounding like his eyes had looked.

Alfred swallowed hard. He had thought Herbert had somehow read his mind, or could tell from his movements that he'd been looking at him. That wasn't it. His dressing table was not far off, beside the bath, across from the bed. He could see his own reflection in the mirror.

"I . . . I'm not . . . I'm not sure I know who I am anymore," Alfred admitted, voice low, barely a whisper. Herbert could hear him with crystal clarity. "I'm . . .

"Ah, but you're a young man, Alfred. Young men rarely know who they are. You probably never knew to begin with."

"I wanted to be a . . . a vampire hunter." Alfred's eyes fell. Herbert hadn't stiffened up or anything. He didn't even seem frightened. The one who had jerked the bed was himself, his own guilt bleeding through for having been out to kill someone who had been rather reasonable to him since their misgiving.

"When I was boy, all I wanted was to get out of here and spread my wings a little, live life my way for a while," Herbert said, continuing to watch Alfred through the mirror. "That's what all young people want, Alfred. That's all you wanted. You didn't come out here to kill vampires. You came out here to see the world. This was just the fastest way to do it."

Alfred made no vocal response, but his eyes told all. Herbert was right. He knew it. Alfred knew it. That was why he couldn't bring himself to confirm it. He felt too empty. Too broken. Why couldn't he do anything right? Somehow he'd managed to mess up _finding himself_. Why was he such a failure?

"You'll find your place, Alfred," Herbert said, rolling onto his back and sparing Alfred a pitying look. "You just need a little more time." He reached for Alfred's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Moping about it isn't going to help, though. Rest your mind and go back to sleep."

Herbert retrieved his hand and rested them over his chest. Alfred watched his eyelids slip closed while his own hand tingled where Herbert's had been. The vampire really needed to cut that out. It was worrisome the way his responses were starting to go.

Then again, it wasn't Herbert's fault, now was it? Herbert was doing his thing, acting how he usually did, quiet, gentle, persevering. It was Alfred's fault he was having these perverse, as the professor had put it, responses.

Alfred sighed. He felt that he was starting to go crazy. The sooner night came, the better. He needed to get far away from here. He needed to go home and forget about this nightmare. He needed to find himself. But worrying could come later. Tiredness was setting in, and with a slow shake of his head, Alfred pushed the thoughts from his mind and drifted back off to a restful sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

((What do you think, did my writing get better? o.o))

Alfred sighed, staring at the plate clutched in his hands. He'd lost the Professor. He'd lost Sarah. Now the only chance he had for survival was to bend to the whim of the vampire that had tried to convert him the night before. The emotions coursing through his body were unable to be tamed. Should he feel anger, or hatred? Or perhaps he should feel regretful. Or maybe even sympathetic. Regardless, he definitely felt heart-broken.

He stood and moved to the bathroom, where he washed the plate and dressed quickly, wanting to be rid of the place forever. Leaving the castle behind would be like abandoning the entire past few nights, those horrible lapses of time where he had been used, misused, then tossed aside as if he meant nothing. He would go home, forget about everything that had happened, and live the normal life that his parents had wanted. He smiled wryly, remembering their warnings. They had always said nothing good would come of vampire hunting. Oh, how right they were.

When he was ready, he went back into the main room and nodded somberly to the vampire who was waiting on the bed, legs crossed. He stood and opened the door, peering into the hallway, then turned back to Alfred and beckoned him through the threshold. They moved quickly, but carefully, not wanting to be detected or heard as they passed through and made their way down to the court yard. Passing through the entrance gate caused him to shudder. He wasn't sure why, or what had caused it, but there was an unmistakeable feeling about him that he was leaving something precious behind.

It seemed to have snowed even more during the day, and the temperature seemed to have gotten even colder now that it was night time once more. His breath trailed before him as he walked through the fresh coating of white mush, and his feet kicked up puffs of the snow, seeing as it was so powdery and the air was so dry.

He noticed, quite jealously, that his vampire companion didn't seem to be bothered by any of this at all. And why would he be? Wasn't he undead, or something like that? The cold would have no reason to affect a creature like he. Now, Alfred, a lowly mortal—he was freezing, and felt as though every passing moment was torturous and full of agony. How much time had passed now? How much longer to go? He could barely see the village in the distance in the veil of darkness. It could be hours yet!

He had become wrapped up in his thoughts, and his body was beginning to give out, having become numb from being so meagerly covered. He stepped down into the snow, catching his foot on some ice, and began to fall, unable to stop himself, too tired to throw out his arms and prevent himself from crashing down into the cold, unforgiving snow.

Only the snow never came. Instead of falling into the icy grasp of mother Earth, Alfted found himself in the arms of his guide, who was staring down at him with a very concerned look on his face.

"You... were just... all the way... over there..." He could barely speak. His teeth were chattering, and there were trickles of tears leaking from his eyes, a result of the wind and the cold.

Herbert helped him up to his feet, remaining silent for the moment. "We are quick to act," he said at last, gently, "especially when those that we are about are in need of help." Alfred shivered, though for once it was only part from the cold. Herbert continued to stare at him, taking on a rather disapproving look, "You look ill. Do you need to rest? You should have said something."

Alfred smiled weakly. Truth be told, he hadn't even realized that he'd needed help at all. As previously noted, he was too wrapped up in his thoughts, and he hadn't noticed that his body was slowly going numb. But would Herbert believe that? Or would he think that he had been purposefully ignoring him (which, by the way, was quite plausible, had it been the night before)?

"It sort of... slipped my mind," he admitted sheepishly, kicking at the snow a little, as if blaming it for his mistake.

Herbert merely shook his head, then looked around for something, anything to sit on. There were some rocks in the distance that jutted out from a hill side; those would have to do. "Well, come on then. Let's have a rest." He held tightly Alfred's arm and dragged him over, rather willingly, so that he could be sat down. Herbert himself remained standing, merely leaning up against the formation, seemingly deep in thought.

Alfred drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, attempting to somehow preserve his warmth. "But what if there isn't enough time?" he wondered, looking toward the vampire.

"Enough time for what?" Herbert responded absently, casting a single glance toward the human.

"Well," Alfred hesitated. "To get back the castle. Will there be enough time... with breaks for me?"

Herbert seemed to find this very amusing, as he began to chuckle half-heartedly. "Have you forgotten what I am?" he flaunted. "I could make it back within the hour." Could he really? No. Not at all. But he wasn't about to let Alfred know that, not when the boy was worried about him (however shallow that worry ran mattered not).

"But don't worry about me," he went on, nearly rambling, and still staring out into the distance. "Worry about what you will do once we reach the village. Where will you go afterward? Do you know your way through the country without the aid of that bumbling Professor?"

Alfred shrugged a little, not quite willing to move more than that out of fear of losing what little warmth he had built up. "Not really," he admitted, "but I think I'll manage. The people are bound to know something."

"Oh yes, sure," Herbert mumbled. "That is, if they are willing to associate with you when you return." Upon receiving a rather panicked look from Alfred, he sighed and turned to him. "You are returning without the Professor and without Sarah. They are bound to be suspicious. They'll probably think that you have been bitten; be prepared for an assault."

"W—well then," Alfred muttered, shaking his head, "they'll see there's nothing wrong with me when waving garlic in my face doesn't work..."

"Alfred," Herbert grumbled, "garlic doesn't work on **any** vampire."

"Crosses then!" Alfred reasoned. "Those won't hurt me."

"Crosses don't effect us all," Herbert retorted. "And even then, they may be bypassed with a strong enough will. I had to get past the one that you made, even before that poor wretch Kokoul took it down."

"S—stop it, will you? You're making me nervous." And he was. Alfred was shaking now, completely unrelated to the cold.

Alfred glared at him. "Stop it! You're making me nervous."

"You should be," Herbert said, pushing off of the rock and offering a hand to Alfred to help him down. "These are dangerous parts, love; you must always be on guard."

Alfred smiled weakly. "I'll... do my best to remember that."

And then they set off once more, back onto the snow laden path, toward the village which grew closer and closer with each weary step.


	5. Chapter 5

An hour passed, and then another, and another. Time flowed slowly, slower than either of them could have ever imagined. For both it was agonizing.

Alfred was slowly freezing, the nerves on his flesh shutting down and giving way to a numbing pain that gradually shifted to warmth with time. It was a bad sign, that he knew, and he very much wanted to be out of the cold. He just couldn't move fast enough. His legs were too weary, too weak to carry him away from the place that had practically ruined his life.

Being of the unnatural, Herbert wasn't so much bothered by the cold, but he was aware of Alfred's deteriorating health. He worried for him, but tried not to allow his weary mind to dwell on it. There wasn't much he could do to keep the young man warm, and he was, after all, only mortal. There was a distinct possibility that he wouldn't make it. What then?

It was a heart wrenching thought, and gave him all the more reason to cherish each step they took together. Any moment could be Alfred's last. Herbert's hands clenched together a little in a silent anger. Stupid, pig-headed humans. If he'd have just sat still and let him feed on him back at the castle he wouldn't have to worry about freezing to death right now! Yeah, okay, so it was selfish of him. What of it? Didn't Herbert deserve to be happy? Didn't he deserve a mate like his father had?

Herbert heaved a small huff. Despite Alfred's brief glance his way, neither said a word as they continued to trudge along into the night.

It was late, long past midnight, and a good way into the wee hours of the morning. The village was even closer now, and fast approaching despite Alfred's slow speed. Seeing the buildings did put a spring in his step though, which naturally ignited Herbert's continuous fears for him. What if the man fell again? What if he really hurt himself?

"I do wish you'd take it easy," he murmured, his gray gaze glaring at his feet as they made tracks in the snow.

"Well, I'm just-"

"The village isn't going anywhere, you know. The houses aren't about to grow legs and walk away."

"But there are-"

"Why are you giving me a hard time, Alfred? Just do as I say and ease up, would you!"

Herbert cut the man a small glare. Alfred quickly shut his mouth and slowed his pace, though he continued to gaze yearningly at the lit windows increasingly nearby. Herbert could sense his disappointment, and once more he heaved a breath of frustration. It wasn't his fault that he could smell the man's blood, or that he could tell how his heart beat was weakening. Stupid, stubborn human.

On the subject of humans, they were surprisingly plentiful, despite the time of night. The tavern seemed the fullest, but there were plenty of people going to and from the church at the edge of town as well. It was a large, old fashioned building open all hours of the day to house the souls who needed housing, who had no where else to go. Then there were the deaths, and the funerals, sermons held for missing persons. For Chagal and for Magda. There was an unmistakable dreariness that had overtaken the villagers. Alcohol was thick in the air. So was smoke.

"What a depressing scene," Alfred remarked upon passing through the gates of town. The wasted passersby sloshing along the wet cobblestone path gazed at them, only half aware, bloodshot, drunk, but distressed. "I've never seen such a miserable lot."

Herbert stepped nearer to Alfred, despite the man's flinching. He whispered to him, "They recognize me."

Drunk or not, the people on the road parted when they walked near. Only a few dared come nearer, and even they would flee when they realized that the young man who had come through the village the day before with the insane professor was really in cohorts with the evil menage they knew from legend who walked beside him.

"Do they?" Alfred whispered back. "How long has it been since you've been out here?"

"Decades, but my figure isn't one easily forgotten."

"_Decades_?" Alfred cast a slightly disgruntled look toward Herbert. "You've been locked up in that dreary old castle for that long?"

"It is dangerous to come out here," Herbert said warily, not liking the dirty looks they were being given as their voices grew louder. "There's a reason we keep a servant." Herbert winced slightly as he imagined Koukol's mangled corpse. He hadn't returned after chasing Sarah and Abronsius into the woods. "Ours is an old clan. They know our faces. So we'd send Koukol out to get things we'd need for the castle. Father is the only one who ventures out on a regular basis. He forbade me from coming myself because I scare the villagers."

It was no laughing matter, but Alfred could not help but release a meager, frightened giggle. "It's . . . no wonder," he managed to say, glancing to Herbert and finding himself greeted with an irritable expression. "Well, you _are_ somewhat . . . _forward_ in your advances."

"You think I'm unaware?" Herbert grumbled, folding his arms over. "And can you blame me for being a little bit _desperate_? I mean, the last time I had a good fuck must have been fifty years ago! Folks like me are a little bit hard tome come by, darling!"

Alfred repressed the urge to hide his head in his hands. His cheeks, however, a rosy red, did stand out against his pale face. "I— I don't need to know that!"

"But you're a man, Alfred, you must understand," Herbert insisted. "That fire you felt when you looked at Sarah, that's—" Herbert somehow managed to stop himself before he could utter, '_that's how I feel when I look at you_.' He wasn't stupid. He didn't want to ruin things right now. Not when he had some strange form of friendship budding there.

"That's a wonderful feeling," Herbert declared instead. "You men who like women have it lucky. Men like me tend to have to live lonely."

Herbert shrugged listlessly, very much at odds with his usual demeanor, and stared toward the tavern. "I suppose this is your stop, then."

Alfred settled himself stationary beside Herbert and gazed through the half open doorway at the tavern. He was trying to focus on the warmth inside, but he couldn't shake the melancholy he'd heard in Herbert's voice. He wasn't even sure why he cared. Something about it just didn't sit right with him.

"I do need to warm up," Alfred replied, sniffling in the frigid air. Whether this was his final destination or not was unclear to him. He'd still need to find some way out of town if he was to go home. If his parents even wanted him back. He'd kind of left in shame. It wasn't like vampire hunting assistance was a highly respectable job. "So I suppose it's as good a start as any." Alfred gave Herbert a long glance, then started toward the doors. "Are you going to come in?"

Herbert, mildly touched by the invitation and glowing a little inside, was hesitant. "I'm not sure that's a great idea."

"But aren't you cold? Come, I insist." Alfred doubled back a little and wrapped his hand around Herbert's slender wrist.

"A—Alfred, these people don't take k-kindly to my people," Herbert stammered as he was pulled along. His bursting heart was the only thing keeping him from pulling away and fleeing from the forsaken place. "This isn't- a- good- i- dea!"

At that moment the two spilled into the tavern, Herbert still being led along by Alfred as though he were a leashed puppy. The people inside, mostly drunk, of course, quieted down to a painful silence as they analyzed the interlopers. Word on the street had claimed that a Krolock had been sighted, but they hadn't believed such a thing until they saw it with their own eyes. A Krolock in town, in their tavern! It was an outrage!

But, according to human nature, and the general cowardice of the intoxicated, the drunkards merely stood up and stumbled away, some running, some tiptoeing, as though they would then not be seen, toward places to hide, far, far away from the evil vampire.

Alfred laughed meagerly at the display, if only because he was feeling somewhat renewed by the heat of the building. He released Herbert's wrist and closed shut the door behind him.

"This feels mildly familiar," he murmured, turning back around and scrutinizing the empty tables, as well as the ones occupied underneath by trembling patrons. "Suppose it could have gone worse, eh?"

"You're an idiot," Herbert agreed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and glancing around uneasily. There was garlic all over the place. It stunk to high heavens. "You're lucky I love you, or else I'd bark at you a little for endangering us like that."

"Okay so it was a little hasty, but at least it's warm, and they don't seem like they're going to bother us. Look at them trembling down there. They're harmless."

Alfred refrained from removing his coat, and made his way toward the hearth, where he pulled out two chairs, and sat down in the one nearest the flames. "Wont' you join me?"

"There's going to be someone who owns this place," Herbert said uneasily as he made his way to the table Alfred had selected. Reluctantly he took a seat, though he continued to glance around, as though expecting to be staked at any moment. "And I'll bet you that someone will be armed and dangerous. This isn't a safe place for me."

A woman's voice snorted from afar. Alfred and Herbert's heads both snapped toward the counter where Rebecca, the old, fat widow stood, her arms hugging at the other, a watery look to her eyes.

"Knew you were trouble," she hissed, though she made no move to cause harm to either of her guests. "My husband, dead. My maid, dead. Turned. Made into monsters. Like him." She pointed at Herbert. "You've got a lot of nerve showing up here after the things you've done."

"You're taking things awfully well," Herbert murmured. He even managed a pleasant smile, as though such an expression might somehow pacify her further.

"He was always a conniving little cheat," she said, blinking back tears. "Only good ever come of him was my daughter. And now she's gone too. Another life taken by the Count."

"With all due respect, Ma'am, the girl did go to him of her own free will," Herbert said.

"Respect. Hah! An irony coming from a wretch like you."

"Yet you have not attacked me."

Rebecca shrugged once more, then pushed herself off the counter and made to draw up two glasses of ale.

"Sarah seems happy," Alfred told her as she approached their table, the drinks in hand. Herbert eyed the one she placed before him warily. Had she managed to poison it while her back had been turned? Would taking a sip end his un-life?

"I wouldn't have left her there if I didn't believe it with all my heart," Alfred insisted, eagerly taking up the tankard and drinking deeply. It was a little fiery in his mouth, but it went down smooth and warmed his belly.

"Would it have hurt to leave him behind too?" she retorted.

Herbert glowered a moment, then threw caution to the wind and swallowed a mouthful of the drink as well. It had been a long time since he'd touched human stuff. It tasted weird. He wasn't sure he liked it. He drank another swallow anyway.

"He's my guide," Alfred responded timidly. "If it weren't for him I'd have frozen to death out there."

"Or have been pulled apart by _werewolves_," Herbert said with the slightest of smirks.

"D-don't remind me . . ." It would have been a grisly death indeed.

"There's been some nightmarish howling in the woods," Rebecca said idly. "Some suspect lycans. With the vampire activity around here lately I wouldn't be surprised. It's probably just a matter of time before they attack and steal some other young maiden too."

"A werewolf wouldn't do that," Herbert insisted. "They're far too savage to care much for a woman's beauty. They're probably just . . . hungry."

Alfred stared at Herbert. He set his tankard down. "What? What are you thinking?"

"The lot of you _were_ running out into their territory," Herbert said softly. His gray eyes appeared somewhat unfocused. "Sarah came back. Your professor did not. Could be they've tasted human flesh, and now they want more."

The drunks moaned in fear. Rebecca rolled her eyes, but appeared visibly distraught herself. At least the vampires only bothered them now and again. They were remotely civilized. A pack of lycans could very well mutilate the entire village.

"Suppose I should get up to the church then and send some prayers while I still can, if our time on this Earth is as limited as you suggest." Rebecca gazed hard at Herbert. She'd only seen the man a few times in her entire life. Each time she was struck by the same thought. "You look so much like your mother."

Rebecca had never met the woman, but her portrait in the church bore an uncanny resemblance to the young count. Herbert could only smile meekly and offer, "Yes, I get that a lot." She had died long ago, of course, when he was quite young. He had never seen her portrait, however, because he could not enter the church. Such a mention of the thing was always a bit hard for him. It may have been nearly four centuries, but sometimes he still missed her.

"Whelp, I best be going." Rebecca turned her gaze away from the vampire. She was chilled just by the fact that she'd been so close. She gazed at the drunks under the table, stomped her foot hard, and bellowed, "Hurry up please, it's time! Don't worry about your blasted money. Out with the lot of you. Get. Go!"

The drunks stumbled to their feet and happily went.

Alfred looked uneasy. He shivered too, thoughts of the cold returning to him. He didn't much want to go out there. He opened his mouth to beseech the woman, but she beat him to the punch.

"Watch the place for me. You can stay in your old rooms. The old man rented them for a few anyways. Who am I to reject a patron."

Alfred's lips twitched between a smile and a frown. He didn't like the dejected tone to her words, but there wasn't much he could say except to murmur a slight, "Thank you."

Rebecca said nothing in reply. She merely hobbled over to the door and shrugged into her coat. A moment later she was gone, vanished into the frigid night.

"What a nice lady," Herbert mused.

"I feel terrible for the trouble we've caused," Alfred said pitifully. He downed the rest of his ale. "If the professor and I had never come along, maybe they'd be all right. Maybe Sarah would be gone, but her family wouldn't be so, you know, broken." Alfred was silent a moment. "Good God, the professor. This trip was doomed from the very start, I just knew it!"

Herbert observed Alfred with a very particular eye. He'd picked up on the fact that Alfred seemed quite a bit more loose with his language since he'd had that tiny little drink. Herbert's gaze shifted briefly to his own, which he had only half finished, then to the keg on the wall. His mind ticked away, click-click-click, as he considered if it was worth getting the man drunk and bedding him. It would certainly lift his spirits a little, but . . .

When night came again, Alfred would find out what happened, and he would hate him, and after the way he'd responded to nearly being turned, and how he'd come so far from that, being hated by the one he loved wasn't something Herbert was willing to risk. He stood briskly, grabbed up the two tankards, and dumped his down the basin.

"Go upstairs, my love, you need to rest," Herbert said, still keeping his back to him. "I'll put out the fire and join you shortly.

Alfred did not want to leave the warmth of the fireside, but a small yawn, and the thoughts of a bed and blankets enticed him to stand and groggily make his way toward the stairs. His legs felt like jelly, a mix of muscle fatigue and a dangerous threat of frostbite.

"But . . . but what about the werewolves?" he murmured.

"Don't worry about the werewolves, Alfred. I'll protect you."

Alfred smiled, a little buzzed. "Okay! See you in bed!"

Herbert somehow managed to keep a straight face until Alfred had begun to stumble up the stairs. When the man was gone, Herbert put a hand to his face and released the small, half-laugh-half-cry he'd been repressing.

"Alfred," he whispered to himself, "you are so lucky I_ love_ you, you stupid, stubborn little tease . . ."

Herbert filled a bucket with water from the basin and brought it to the fireplace. His thoughts drifted to home, and to his father. The count would worry when he discovered he wasn't there. There was a possibility that he'd come out looking for him, but it was a possibility that he would have to risk. He'd promised he'd protect Alfred from the werewolves, and he wasn't about to go back on his promise. He doused the flames, then made for the stairs post haste to join Alfred "in bed".


End file.
